A Beautiful Sorrow
by SiddaCullen
Summary: Edward faces expulsion if he doesn't get through to a broken girl living in a mental hospital. Bella faces her greatest demons as she learns to forgive herself and break the walls hiding her broken heart. M for themes and language.
1. Reluctant Decision

**A/N: Hello. Yes, another story, but I'm back and will be working harder than ever to get all of them, including my other two updated and back to a regular schedule. I hope you all like this one!**

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><p><strong>One<strong>

Rock music distracts me from what I'm about to do. The high volume, melodic guitar riffs, and harsh vocals all keep the world at bay for whatever time I have left. Closing my eyes helps even more. Then the world is completely gone and it's just me and the music. No school, no bus, no impending drive to Forks Mental Hospital. No nothing. It's sheer bliss.

And then I hear a voice somehow cut right through the music and invade my short lived peace. It's Mr. Greene. The principal. Fuck.

I want to ignore him but I'm in no position to say or do anything to him except to comply. I'm facing suspension if I don't. He and my parents have made it quite clear that community service is the only way out of my 'predicament.' If I don't follow through this, I could end up either suspended or possibly expelled. All for breaking Mike Newton's arm. But he fucking deserved it.

"Cullen!" Mr. Greene snaps at me. "Time to go!"

I turn off the engine, and my ears ring at the sudden silence. It takes all my self control not to sigh and put up a fight. I know it would be a lost battle before it even begun. Mr. Greene is in deep with Mike Newton's parents, so it doesn't matter what I say. The easiest way out for me is to get on that bus and take a ride to the mental hospital until the end of the year to talk to some nutcase who won't even remember me.

I ignore everyone's stares as I step up onto the bus and sit down in the first available seat I find. I hear a few sniggers from the back but I pretend not to hear them. It wouldn't do to start a fight so soon after my encounter with Newton.

Mr. Greene is talking with Mr. Banner. The biology teacher 'volunteered' to be the chaperone of this little field trip. Blackmailed into it is the more likely scenario. He looks even less thrilled to be here than the rest of us.

Mr. Banner walks onto the bus a minute later. As soon he sits down the bus driver takes off.

The drive is awkward and too long. Even though I want nothing more than for this bus to crash or get a flat tire, a small part of me wants to get there so that this day can come to an end. Get it over with so that I at least know what to expect.

When we get to the hospital Mr. Banner tells us to get off the bus. Once everyone is outside we are given our instructions.

"I am going to give each of you a card with the name of a patient. That patient will become your friend during the next four months. You will get to know them. Talk to them, play games with them, read to them. Do whatever they want you to. Under no circumstances are you to be rude or inconsiderate, and if I find any of you on your phones or talking to each other, I _will _tell Mr. Greene and he will follow through with appropriate discipline." Mr. Banner takes the time to stare at each of us as though he wants to drill these words into our brains.

"Any questions?"

Silence.

"Once I hand you your card you will go inside and one of the nurses will direct you to the patient you will be spending time with. I'll be monitoring each of you closely to make sure that no rules will be broken. Make sure you stay with your 'new friend' for the entire time. If I see any of you not with your friend, talking to each other, there will be severe consequences. Do you understand?" Mr. Banner continued. He tried to give his voice an authoritative, threatening tone, but we could hear his resolve wavering. It was clear he didn't want to be here any more than we did.

But we nod. Whatever got us through this ordeal the quickest.

"Okay. When I call your name, come up and get your card. Tyler!"

A tall boy with wavy brown hair comes forward and takes the card Mr. Banner gives him. He goes inside to look for whoever he was supposed to spend time with.

I let my mind wander as I wait for my name to be called. If it had been anyone but Mike Newton, this punishment would hardly have been necessary. _He _was the one who needed to serve community service hours. _He _was the one who needed to learn a little compassion and respect for others. Especially women. God, how the fuck did Mr. Greene think _I _was the one who needed the help? It wasn't like I'd ever punched anyone before. Although it hurt my pride to admit it, I'd never even been able to kill a fly. Seeing any living creature in pain, animal or human, brought me a sense of discomfort that was unbearable to live with. I wasn't able to stomach gory movies because even the image of pain in others, no matter how fake it was, was impossible to witness.

Yet beating the shit out of Mike had been the most natural thing in the world. Once my fist made contact with his face, I let myself go and the rest is history. When I'd been asked by my father and the principal if I felt any remorse over what I'd done, I'd said no gladly. He deserved every bruise, every scratch, every fucking broken bone I'd given him. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

That was probably why I was here, come to think of it. I shouldn't have been so honest in my answer. But my blood still boils whenever I think back to that image of Mike with that girl. Even now I feel my fists clench in anger. I close my eyes and take deep breaths to calm down. The last thing I needed was to take my anger out on whoever I was supposed to become friends with for the next four months. Not that I would do that.

"Cullen!" Mr. Banner sounds annoyed as he calls my name. The few people who are left are looking at me with curiosity and amusement. Mr. Banner probably called my name more than once, but I pretend not to notice as I grab the card the biology teacher holds out to me.

I don't look at the card. Instead I shuffle inside the hospital. An older woman, probably in her fifties, is standing behind the front desk. She smiles warmly in greeting as I walk up to her.

"Hello, dear. Who are you paired up with?" she asks, sounding as though she actually wants to know.

I show her the card without looking at it. I don't care who I get. Hopefully it'll be someone quiet who doesn't notice I'm there. That way at least I wouldn't have to pretend to like someone who I won't remember when my sentence is served.

"Isabella Swan." The nurse clucks her tongue pityingly. Is she sorry for me or for whoever Isabella Swan is? She looks up at me and hands me back the card. The smile has disappeared from her face, her eyes wide with sadness. "The poor dear has been through so much for her age." I don't know if she's talking to me or herself. "Just be careful with her. She's easily upset."

I nod and she points to a door that leads into the main area of the hospital. "Isabella is inside the recreation room. It's the first door on the left."

She gives me one last sad smile which I barely manage to return. Then I turn and go through the bright red door that she has indicated.

The atmosphere in the main area is completely different than the reception area. It smells of rubbing alcohol and expired medication. The bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling have a dark yellowish tinge to it, darkening the room in a hazy glow. The plants are dead, the white wallpaper is chipping, and the paintings depict dark, screaming images of what I suspect might be old patients from at least twenty years ago. How could anyone get happy in a place like this?

The hallway is narrow. That can't be helpful for claustrophobic patients. Maybe they don't walk around freely as the doctors and visitors do. Maybe the patients stay locked in their rooms all day and are only brought out for a few hours at a time.

Any last trace of calm, peacefulness I might have had vanishes immediately. The dark despair is thick enough to feel just by walking through it. How are the patients supposed to get better if they are subjected to this all the time? Or maybe that's the point. Maybe they aren't supposed to get better and the doctors want to keep them here.

_Don't be stupid, Edward. Of course they're supposed to get better. Snap out of it. _

I sigh and take another deep breath as I turn the doorknob of the door that supposedly leads inside the recreation room. I silently pray that this room will be more cheerful than the hallway.

I open the door and look around. The room is full of people. Most are patients, but I see some nurses and orderlies monitoring the room, keeping watch. I see some of the students talking to their assigned patient. Nobody looks as though they want to be here. The room itself is big enough to accommodate hundred people, and the windows are wide. They aren't barred but none of them are open, which makes me believe they are locked. Sunlight pours into the room like desperately needed rays of hope.

The patients are easily distinguishable by their standard light blue robes and general disheveled appearances. They all look like they could use a good night's sleep. Some are playing games, some are reading, watching TV, or walking around aimlessly. Tyler is chasing after one of them; his patient is acting as though Tyler is an enemy out to get him. If it wasn't so sad it might've been a little funny.

It isn't until I see the massive amount of patients that I realize I have no idea what Isabella Swan looks like. I look around the room as though I'll be able to spot her wearing a bright neon sign. Unfortunately it's a lost cause. I walk up to the nearest orderly. He's standing in a corner with his arms crossed, not bothering to hide his boredom.

"Excuse me. Can you tell me where Isabella Swan is?" I ask. Hopefully I'm giving off a nonchalant attitude.

The orderly looks me over once as though he's trying to find out what my intentions are. I stare at him innocently. I don't want to be here any more than he does.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the orderly points in the far corner of the room. I turn my head to look. I know immediately who he is referring to, and I feel my heart break at the sight of her.

The girl is young. She can't be any older than I am. Her dark brown hair would be long and thick if it was washed properly. It hangs from her head in thin, greasy strands. Her body is hidden underneath her long, dirty robe. I have the horrible suspicion that if I saw her body it would be stick thin. Malnourished, even. What little skin I can see is pale white and damn near translucent. Her appearance is skeletal, even from the distance between us. I'm almost afraid to approach her. She looks as though one small touch might do her in.

But I have no choice but to go to her. Would I come across as defiant if I asked for a different patient to hang out with? Mr. Banner had to understand that there was no way this would work out once he saw this girl's decrepit state. Surely there was a healthier, stronger person here somewhere? Someone who wouldn't break if I came too close?

But Mr. Banner is nowhere to be seen, and I have to move soon if I don't want to get in trouble. Surely it won't be my fault if this girl collapses in my company? Slowly, hesitantly, I move in her direction.

Isabella Swan appears to become smaller as I approach her. Her skin is even whiter than it first appeared. I stop when I'm several feet away from her. At this clear distance I can see her face. My heart breaks even more.

She is blank and empty. Her eyes are lifeless as they stare out the window. I don't think she's looking outside. Whatever she's seeing is not in this world. She sits limply in the plastic chair. Her arms dangle at her sides, though they are hidden in the long sleeves of her robe. If it weren't for the occasional blink of her eyes and the rise and fall of her chest, I would have thought I was looking at a corpse. What the hell could have happened to this girl to make her like this?

Unsure about what to do, I quickly decide to pull up a chair. I keep my distance but hope that I'm close enough to not attract any suspicion. I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. Where do I begin? Should I say something? I know before I start that it will be hopeless, but I have to do something. I can't sit here for the next two hours and do nothing.

Isabella takes no outward notice of my appearance. She doesn't appear startled or alarmed at my close proximity of her. She continues to stare out the window. Her dark brown eyes are like empty voids that offer insight into her mind. If only I knew how to get in. I wonder vaguely if I should touch her. I don't dare shake her. One push might cause her to fall out of her seat. Any injury would be on me, and I would be expelled for sure. But it can't be helped. If I don't look as though I'm making an effort I'll get expelled. I lose either way.

I sigh. I hope that the sound might snap her back to reality but she remains as still and lifeless as ever. I try again, this time a little louder.

Nothing.

Jesus, this is hopeless.

I look around the room, pointlessly hoping Mr. Banner isn't around. This is the last thing he needs to see. Everyone else seems to be having some luck with their assigned patient. Even Tyler managed to sit his patient down. All of them are talking. None of them glance in my direction, which I'm grateful for. They don't need to see me fail at this.

"Um, Isabella?" _Way to go, Edward. Great start. _"Can you hear me?"

She blinks. She doesn't flex a muscle, twitch a finger, or flare her nostrils. The usual signs of annoyance or acknowledgment are nonexistent with this girl. Is she always like this? Should I call for help? Then again, the orderly didn't seem concerned about her appearance. I hope she isn't always like this. How do they expect me to engage her in conversation if she's a catatonic? Do they want me to fail? Is that what this is?

I feel my fists clench up and it takes all my self control to unclench them. I can't get angry. I can't give them reason to suspect I'm reaching my limit. I run my hands through my messy hair and rub my temples. Then I try again.

"If you can hear me, can you give me some kind of sign?" I watch her intently, looking for the smallest movement. But she gives me nothing.

I sigh again. I haven't been here ten minutes and already I'm feeling burned out. And I'm supposed to endure four months of this shit? Two hours a day, two days a week? What a waste of time. I'll have to remember to bring homework with me. Maybe I'm only supposed to sit with her, not bother her, and keep to myself. That wouldn't be so bad if the ghostly image of this girl didn't unnerve me so. The heavy bags under her eyes tell me she desperately needs sleep. She needs to eat something, too.

Maybe that's what I should do. This dump ought to have a cafeteria somewhere. I should bring her some food. Everybody has to eat, and maybe that's all she's waiting for. Maybe she's in a hunger-induced coma.

The idea is slightly ridiculous, but I'm out of ideas. I stand up and whisper, "I'll be right back," to her, although I know it's a waste of breath.

I'm just about to reach the door when Mr. Banner appears unexpectedly before me. He cocks an eyebrow at me. "Going somewhere, Edward?"

"I was just going to look for some food. My patient is hungry." Maybe he'd buy it. Hopefully I sound convincing enough.

"Lunch was just served. The cafeteria is closed right now. You're not going to get out of this that easily. Now go back to your new friend." The warning in his voice is clear. I suppress an eye roll then turn around to go back to Isabella.

I sit back down and turn to face her once more, then notice the slight movement she's just made. If I hadn't been paying so much attention earlier, I would have missed it altogether. Her lips are parted slightly and her legs are closer together than they were just a minute ago. She blinks more rapidly and her breaths are deeper. She looks as though she's trying to wake up from whatever silent dream she's been having. I hold my breath as I watch her. Her eyes are still focused on the window, but I get the impression that she's about to snap out of her internal shell. I hope she is.

But the hope vanishes when she makes no more movement. Her breathing slows down and slowly, infinitesimally, her lips close back up. She's back to her earlier self-induced coma.

I sit back, frustrated. How the hell am I supposed to do this? What cruel twist of fate put me here? What did I do to deserve this shit? If I ever saw Mike again...

I decide to pass the time looking at everyone else. They all have gotten through to their patients. Some of them even look as though they're having a conversation. At least they won't have to worry about ignoring their patients. All of them appear to be normal enough to engage in everyday life.

Somehow I must manage to appear as though I'm paying Isabella Swan some attention without actually talking to her. Everything I say to her is a waste of breath because she acts as though I'm not sitting right beside her. I don't know if she truly is not aware of me or if she's just doing a very good job ignoring me. Well, two can play that game. I'm just here to avoid suspension and expulsion. No one said I had to be friends with this girl.

And even though it feels as though I'll spend the rest of my life in this hospital, in this room with a girl who doesn't know I exist, the two hours eventually come to a close. The second I see Mr. Banner enter the recreation room I wait in impatient anticipation for him to say the wonderful words, "We're leaving."

I jolt out of my seat the minute he dismisses us. I don't have to look back to know that Isabella doesn't look behind her to watch me leave. If she was aware of my presence all this time she's probably celebrating silently to herself that I'm finally leaving. I know I am.

To my absolute irritation, the nurse at the front desk stops me from leaving. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

I hesitate. "I really need to be going."

"This will only take a second."

I close my eyes and count to five before I open them again and nod. "Sure. Okay."

The nurse leads me to the corner of the room, behind the reception desk, and speaks to me in a hushed tone so that we won't be overheard.

"How did it go?" she asks.

I feign ignorance. "How did what go?"

"Isabella," the nurse replies patiently, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Did she say anything to you?"

I shake my head, surprised. Why would she say anything to me? "No. Was she supposed to?"

The nurse's expression falls in disappointment. "Not necessarily. I just hoped that maybe, with the two of you being the same age, that you might have been able to coax something out of her."

"Is she like that all the time?"

The nurse nods dejectedly. "Unfortunately, yes. She was quite loud and outspoken when she first came here. Then, gradually, she turned inward on herself. She got quiet and sullen. She'll snap out of it eventually, but we don't know what brings it on. She has moments of complete stillness, and it seems to be taking her longer and longer to come back out."

I frown, uneasy all of a sudden. "Why are you telling me this?" I can't help but ask.

"I know it's against doctor-patient privilege, but the doctors were hoping that you might be able to get through to her. She's been through so much. We were hoping that you might be able to help," she replied.

I can't help but wonder; does she know about the incident with Mike? Why would they pick me to get through to Isabella? There has to be a reason why they would think I'd be able to help her.

"I won't give up," I find myself saying. I'm surprised by my words, but I'm even more surprised that I mean them. "I'll find a way to get through to her."

The nurse smiles at me like she's just seen me for the first time. "It would mean the world to us, and to Isabella. She's lonely. Someone to talk to- to relate to- would do her a world of good."

I nod, then hurry outside to board the bus back to the school without another look back. I'd be lying if I said I was looking forward to the challenge of getting Isabella to come out of her shell, but it was better than what I'd thought I was getting into. The girl was an enigma to me.

I spent the rest of the ride back to Forks High School in relative silence, mulling over the various ways in which I could bring Isabella Swan back to life.

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><p><strong>AN: So what do you all think of Edward? Of Bella? Please leave me a review, I'd love hearing from you!**


	2. Haunted Mind

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, added this story to their favorites and alerts. **

**Small warning: This chapter is a little dark and angst-y. Bella is in a dark place right now. Edward will show up next chapter. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Two. Bella<strong>

Noise. All around me. It's everywhere. I can't escape. The only way to make it stop is to pull away. My mind is the only safe place I know. But when I retreat I hear the voices. Her voice. _His _voice. The accusations start up again. I see his hands, open and outstretched, reaching towards me. Their faces appear and taunt me, glaring at me with pure venom.

No. I can't. Stop. Please. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry.

But words are useless. They didn't make a difference then, and they certainly don't make a difference now. They don't stop the pain. Or the guilt. I don't know which emotion is worse. The pain comes and goes in spurts. When I take my medication it dulls a bit. It's a temporary peace, but I'll take it. The guilt is easier to bear without the pain. For a few hours all that happened is nothing but a distant memory and I can focus on other things.

But there aren't any other things. That's the truth I face when the pain fades. I have nothing else but my meager existence within these walls. These sad, decrepit, aging walls that hold haunting memories of forgotten pain of the past. They'd give me that pain if I let them. But I can't take it. I can't. I have more than I can handle already.

When my mind takes over my thoughts, I can see her face better. The guilt doesn't try to hide her from me. I see her smile, her wide brown eyes and hair. It's all as clear as though she's standing in front of me.

I can't look at her too long, though. Her smile turns into a frown, then the tears appear. I'll try to look away from her, but her attention freezes me. I can't look away. Her last moments play over and over in my head like a movie. But the movie never ends. And she never disappears.

I can't tell her I'm sorry. Whenever I try, the words get caught in my throat, choking me. I gasp at the unexpected sensation. I retch, but nothing comes up. I retch again, more forcefully this time. She looks at me, her eyes full of a dozen emotions, none of which I can recognize. I want to ask her to help me, but it doesn't work. She can't help herself, let alone me.

Eventually the chaos in my head will calm down. It always does. But it hurts so much. There are so many images, so much pain. It's hard to block it all out. I don't know if I'll ever be able to make it go away. The faceless people tell me that I can make it go away if I cooperate. If I work with them. But I don't trust them. They want to take her away from me.

There are days when this seems like a good idea. I see her everyday. It doesn't matter what she does; smile or frown. I feel the guilt anyway. I hope that if she goes away, the pain and guilt will go with her. But the relief I expect to feel when this thought occurs to me doesn't come. Instead my guilt intensifies. It's not her fault she haunts me. It's my fault. All of this is my fault. I deserve to live with this guilt for the rest of my life, no matter how hard it may be to live with it.

There was a time I was happy, I suppose. I must've smiled at least once in my life. I must have forgotten how, because my face freezes every time I try. It feels too weird. When I let my mind take over, sometimes I can see my old life. Pieces of my childhood somehow get through the filter I've built to block these memories. Old feelings I thought I'd forgotten rush back to me in a bittersweet blur. It's enough to make me gasp with surprise.

Sometimes this happens in a doctor's presence. All the sensations I feel must show on my face because the doctor will assure me that this is a good thing. I can't suppress the good memories, he tells me, otherwise the bad ones will take over.

I scoff at this and tell him the bad ones have already taken over. Why else would I be here? Besides the other reason?

"If the bad memories had taken over, Bella, you wouldn't feel the good ones. However uncomfortable the good memories make you feel now, they are needed in order for you to remember. Does that make sense to you?"

Sadly, it does.

But how can I live with these good memories when I don't deserve them? When I ask my doctor this, he asks me why I don't deserve them.

"Because of Renee." I don't know how many times I tell him this. He should know my answers by now.

"Why would Renee not want you to be happy?"

I glare at him. "Because of what I did."

"That wasn't your fault."

"It was."

"How?"

At this point in the conversation my eyes sting with suppressed tears, but I refuse to let them out. "I swerved the car."

He always seems to need a moment to gather himself after I say this. He should know his responses by now. I know mine. He takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, then puts his glasses back on and looks me square in the eye. "Why did you swerve the car, Bella?"

I press my lips together. _None of your damn business, that's why._

"Did you see an oncoming car?"

I sit back and cross my arms.

"Did a dog or a cat jump into the street in front of you?"

I raise an eyebrow.

"Did a muscle twitch unexpectedly and you had no choice but to lean over and grab the wheel so that you wouldn't fall over?"

I hear the joke in his question and know it was meant to make me laugh even though it was a poor attempt. But I don't even swallow as I stare at him with as much menace as I dare. I can't antagonize him too much. He's the one with the power to up the dosage on my medication. And as much as I love clearing the haze in my mind, I like feeling in control even more.

"Are you going to answer me?"

I think my silence speaks for itself.

"I think it will help you to acknowledge that night. You know the reasons for your actions, Bella. I know you don't have to say what you're feeling to know the truth. You remember, and that's all that matters. Even if you don't take anything else out of all this. Just hold on to the good moments. It may sound unfair and feel as painful as hell, but it will do you a world of good." He stops talking and looks at me. His eyes penetrate my soul. I feel like he knows exactly who I am.

For a moment I'm relieved. I don't have to pretend with him anymore. If he knows, I don't even have to say anything. He'll understand.

But the next second I'm pissed. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know anything about me. And he doesn't know Renee, either. At least...he didn't...

_No, Bella. You mustn't think like that. _

That's how our conversations go. The doctor whose name I still haven't bothered to find out. I've been here fourteen months and I still don't know his name. That should amaze me, but I've become immune to mundane feelings like that. I only feel two things, three if I'm lucky.

Pain. Guilt. And the rarest, most wonderful feeling of all.

Numbness.

I'm numb when he visits. It's why I don't react to him. My mind is quiet as I sit in the recreation room, two blissful hours of leisure time ahead of me. It's rare that I get to partake in recreation time. When I first got here I was deemed unstable and volatile. They put me under twenty four hour surveillance in solitude. I did everything I could think of to get myself out of it. I screamed nonstop, kicked the heavy metal door, threw myself at the padded walls.

I realize now that I did all the wrong things to prove my sanity, but it also offered me an outlet. It felt good to get rid of the anger I carried around with me. Even though it didn't do me an ounce of good, it made me feel better.

I sit myself down in a plastic orange chair by a small window in the far corner of the room. It takes me all of 2.4 seconds to enter the vast enclosure of my mind. I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. It is only me, and for once I don't mind.

It isn't until later I am told I had a visitor. A nurse told me his name but I did not recognize it. He was young. My age. Handsome. A smooth talker. He seemed quite concerned about me, it seemed, according to the nurse telling me about him. All this is news to me. How did I have a visitor and not even know it?

It scares me that I was completely unaware during his entire two hour visit. What the hell had I been doing? Sitting there like a crazy person, drooling, staring out into oblivion? I don't ask this question because I'm afraid of the answer. I thought the whole point of being here was to get better. Why, then, did I completely zone out? And with a visitor?

I never get visitors. I've told myself that it's because I don't know anyone in this godforsaken town, but the truth is so much worse than that. People know who I am. They all know my father, the chief of police. By extension they know me. People are scared of me. They're scared that I'll snap like I did before. And they knew Renee.

_No. Stop thinking about this. In fact, stop thinking at all. _Good idea. When did the numbness fade? It wasn't here long enough to help.

All too soon the memories are brought back up. They seem more vivid than usual. And longer. I can hear the fight pulling itself out of the depths of my mind, and no amount of pushing or pleading can get it to go away.

_"When will I be finally stop having to say I'm sorry, Phil? I'll say it again. I'm sorry!"_

_"You'll stop when it brings them back."_

_"I made a horrible mistake-"_

_"I can't forgive you for this, Bella. Do you understand that? I'll _never _forgive you for what you did to them!"_

My feet give way and I find myself on the floor. I'm crumpled on the ground like a piece of garbage. Instead of getting up I curl in on myself, bringing my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. My dirty hospital-issued robe is caught underneath my body but I don't have the energy to remove it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

How long have I been laying here? A minute? A day? Two days? Would anyone notice me down here? I don't think so. I don't think anyone would care, either. Other patients have more than enough problems of their own without adding mine into it. Doctors and nurses regard me with hostility and shame. Some with pity. They'll be the ones to get me.

When I open my eyes I see that I'm back in my room. The bare white walls tower over me, unchanging. They show me what my life will be like from here on out. How did I get here? Did I zone out again? I don't remember falling asleep. I don't even remember feeling tired. But I must have if I don't remember getting back here. My heart accelerates when I realize this is the second time in one day for this to happen. Should I be worried? Maybe I should tell my doctor.

The bitter side of me scoffs. He'll only say my blacking out, not being aware of the world around me, is _progress. _The smaller, rational side of me knows this is ridiculous but the notion of seeking my doctor out and telling him something of my own free will is quite frightening. And besides that, I'm locked in my room and wouldn't be able to tell him even if I wanted to.

I need to stop worrying about this. I need tuck myself under the thin white sheets of my small bed and go to sleep. Putting this day behind me sounds good, but when I try, my thoughts snap back to the mysterious visitor who I don't remember.

Did they tell me his name? Yes, but I don't remember. I have a hard time remembering names now.

_Focus Bella. Don't get sidetracked. _Right.

I couldn't remember his name. I closed my eyes and laid back down in my bed in a pathetic attempt to clear my mind and go back to those two hours in the recreation room. I remembered going inside after lunch, feeling watched by the three orderlies pacing the room like a bunch of security guards. I remembered sitting down by the window but everything after that is a blank.

Was this an effect of the medication? Yes, that had to be it. They'd upped my dosage a couple weeks ago. The large amount of it must be causing me to have blackouts. I'll have to remember to tell my doctor later. He'll have me cut back. Then my head will clear up and I'll be aware of my surroundings again.

Feeling slightly better, I let my mind envelope me once more. This time I don't fight it. Let the images come. I don't care anymore.

_"...Phil, what are you doing? You're drunk. You know how you get..." Renee is breathing heavily, but I don't know if it's from fear or something else. The yelling woke me up. Aaron is crying in the bedroom next to mine, but I don't check on him. I know why he's upset, but I don't take him downstairs with me. Renee hated putting him in the middle of an argument with Phil. _

_"I'm fine, Renee, don't you change the subject! I want to know where you were and who you were with! I'm your husband! Don't you think I deserve to know what my wife does behind my back?" My stepfather is inching closer to Renee, an empty beer bottle in his hands. I tense, my eyes wide, knowing what will happen next. _

_Renee knows it too. She pleads with him desperately. "Phil, you're not thinking clearly. You've worked yourself up over nothing. You know I have book club on Thursday nights..."_

_"Please, Renee, do you think I'm stupid?" _

_I bite my lip to keep from screaming as Phil raises the hand with the beer bottle. Renee's eyes grow wide and her arms come up to protect her head instinctively. _

_But then she does something I don't expect. She straightens up and kicks Phil as hard as she can between his legs. His mouth opens in pain, but no sound comes out. He doubles over and drops the beer bottle to the floor. It shatters in a thousand tiny pieces._

_Renee takes her opportunity. She races away from him and up the stairs, nearly colliding with me. "Bella, what are you doing?" she hisses at me. _

_I'm about to reply but she interrupts me. "Get Aaron and meet me in the garage. We're leaving. Don't pack anything, we don't have time. Just get Aaron. Can you do that?" _

_I nod hastily._

_"Hurry!" Renee turns around and goes back downstairs. There's no time for me to ask questions. I take the stairs three at a time and slam Aaron's bedroom door open. He cries out in surprise. _

_I hurry to his crib and scoop him up in my arms then race down the stairs. I don't have the courage to check where Phil is. I'm scared that he's right behind me, waiting to grab me. I'm surprised when I make it to the garage, holding Aaron tightly in my arms. He's crying, but he seems to understand that something very important is happening around him because he doesn't squirm in my arms as he usually does._

_"Hurry, Bella!" Renee's voice is frantic. We throw ourselves in the black Honda Civic. I don't bother putting Aaron into his car seat. Instead I hold him as tightly as possible to my chest, screaming at Renee to hurry up. _

_The car jumps to life instantly. The garage door is open and Renee races down the driveway, away from the house. She drives faster than I'd ever thought possible. When I force myself to look back at our house through the passenger side mirror I see Phil standing in the yard, angrier than I'd ever seen him. _

I startle awake, screaming, hitting the hard mattress underneath me with my clenched fists. I'm thrashing madly, still consumed by the nightmare. I'm only dimly aware of being in my room at Forks Mental Hospital, trapped with only my dark mind and painful memories as company. When I finally open my eyes and look around my dark room, it's as though a dam has broken. Tears are streaming down my face before I can stop them. I can't even lift my arms to wipe them away. I'm so tired.

I can't stop them. The energy required to do so isn't there. Instead I succumb to them, letting them flow freely from my eyes down to my cheeks. I'm heaving the most gut-wrenching sobs. I don't know if I've ever cried like this.

I didn't cry after the accident. It's selfish that I'm crying now, for me instead of them. It's just another thing to add to the list of things I'll never be able to forgive myself for. I curl myself into a ball and cry. I cry for hours, until the sun is streaming in from the barred window on the wall where my bed rests. In all that time, no one has come to check on me. No one has heard me crying, or if they have, they haven't bothered to see if I'm all right. I suppose I can't blame them. People here cry on an hourly basis. If the doctors and nurses got emotionally invested every time they heard a patient cry they'd burn out everyday.

But this fact doesn't stop the pain and the realization that I am truly alone. The only people who ever cared about me are gone, by my doing. They are the reason I am here, and they haunt me for it every minute of every day.

And I deserve it. I deserve all of it.


End file.
